On a warm afternoon not too long ago, I sat outside in the sun visiting with an older (than me) fellow with whom I work. There was nothing especially important or earth-shaking about the conversation, I suppose. We just talked about our kids, about being a father, about our own fathers, and our wives and family stuff in general, and what a beautiful day it was to be alive and sitting in the sun.
Chuck’s kids are both grown and out of the house now, while three of my own six are, well, not. He reminisced a bit as to what it used to be like when his boys were still home, and I told him a little about what life is like in a house still half full, and we compared notes on the raising of boys through the teen years and beyond. He reminded me that the old saying about grandchildren being a parent’s sweetest revenge really can be true, and smiled in the most mischievous way as he told me a couple of stories about his granddaughter, and I told him a couple about my own.
That set me to thinking: It’s probably not a good thing that my dad lives close enough to us to know all of the details about us and our kids. I imagine he is enjoying a few too many chuckles and laughs over it all to suit me.
We all hope we are raising our kids right, and we are teaching them at least some of the things they will need to know when they finally leave the nest. In general, we want our kids to grow up to be good people, to raise a good and happy family, and to have a good life, maybe “better” than what we remember our own as being. We want to teach them to survive and prosper in a world that will not always be kind or gentle, or appreciative of their own unique talents and personalities. I know I do, and while I cannot claim to have it all down, I think that Cheryl and I are getting along pretty well in that regard.
Of course, I might quarrel with the way some folks handle the training of their progeny, and I have been known to speak out of turn more than once about a given situation. It’s sort of like the fellow who, before he started his family, wrote a book titled “How To Raise the Perfect Child.” After having lived with a couple of toddlers for a few years, he posted another book titled “Suggestions For Raising Good And Happy Children.” Finally, after his kids left the house, the final book from his pen was titled “Surviving the Teen Years.” Most of us who have been there/done that can relate easily to the changes in his thinking.
There have always been those young folks who tried to push the limits, and the laws, way past any kind of sense of propriety. Hot-rodding, smoking assorted plant matter, drinking various concoctions not approved of by our parents, listening to music that put the hurt to their ears and sensibilities. My guess is all of us have, at one time or another in our lives, done at least a little of that. For the most part, we all grew up, and got a little smarter, and decided we wanted to make the world a better place for our kids to grow up in.
Somewhere, though, something has gone wrong.
We read in the paper about yet another shooting, at yet another school, by yet another young person who isn’t happy, or who wants attention, or who doesn’t even really know why he did it. And the scars foisted on the victims, and the witnesses and survivors alike, are something no child — or adult or parent — should have to live with. No child. No parent. Anywhere.
I have a little request for all of you parents, young and old, who happen to read this today.
When you look at your kids this day, see them as a gift — a precious gift — to be guarded, and watched, and loved, and taught, and ultimately to be released into this world on their own. Pray for them, and over them. And say a little prayer for the rest of us parents out there who are trying to get the job done. Can’t hurt. And it might help.
GORDON PARRISH HAS LIVED IN GREENLAND FOR ABOUT 15 YEARS.